


A Chuisle, A Chroí (My Pulse, My Heart)

by AlyssaPierceArrow



Category: Tom Hardy - Fandom, Tommy Conlon - Fandom, Warrior (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:42:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssaPierceArrow/pseuds/AlyssaPierceArrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scout McKinley is suddenly promoted to manager of her brother's MMA team, she finds herself saddled with the responsibility of seeing a world class MMA fighter to victory at Sparta.  Assisted by a wonderful gang of MMA misfits, Scout sets headquarters at Colt Boyd's gym, where she'll be dealt a kind of blow she never saw coming.  Mostly slow burn & fluff in the beginning, sparing no details thereafter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We don't see Tommy in this chapter, yet. This is our prologue, setting a bit of the stage for when Scout arrives at Colt's and why. Thanks for reading!

**Edgeworth, Pennsylvania**

 The snow fell silently around the charming 18th century farmhouse bordering the Pennsylvania woods just outside Pittsburgh.  The girl nestled under the pile of down comforters and various throw blankets, curled up with her giant, snoring Newfoundland, was sound asleep.  Then the screen of her iPhone lit up, and it sprung to life, a disturbing hum sending it chattering across her nightstand as the vibration pulsed and the sounds of her default ringtone filled the room.  She groaned and lifted her head off the pillow, checking the digital clock on the cable box. 

2:53 am

Suddenly, realizing the limited number of people who could be calling at that hour, her stomach dropped and she sat upright, her big dog raising his giant head with a jingle of his collar, placing it on his human’s lap, sensing her distress. 

She checked the number. 

Philadelphia.....Jem. 

She looked over at her bookshelf at the different editions of To Kill a Mockingbird her mother had collected over the years.  She’d named her two children after the characters of her favorite book.  

“Hello?” she breathed into the phone. 

“May I speak to Scout McKinley please?”  A gentle, female voice over the phone asked.

“This is she.”  She replied. 

“Miss McKinley, this is Thea at the hospital of UPA here in Philadelphia.  I’m a nurse here in the emergency room.”

Scout remained quiet.  This phonecall.  The worst one.  The one she dreaded.  And here it was. 

“Your brother was admitted at 2:15 this morning following a serious car accident.  I want to tell you that we are prepping him for surgery right now, but our main concern is not his survival but quality of life at this point.” 

“Who was driving?”  Scout asked flatly.

“Do you know a William Royce?”  Thea asked.

Scout groaned.  “Yes.  He’s my father’s Godchild, we’ve known him since we were babies.”  Not to mention, a relatively well-known UFC fighter, and colossal pain in the ass, Scout thought. 

“Apparently Mr. Royce was driving a black 2010 Virage registered in his name. When they crashed, they hit the 30th Street Station going what the officer thinks was around 75 on the JFK Boulevard Bridge.”

“Jesus.”  Scout breathed. 

“Mr. Royce’s tox screen is still coming back, but they do suspect that alcohol was involved….he’s not doing well, Miss McKinley.  He’s in surgery now, but….he will be lucky to come out of this.”    

Scout rubbed the Newfie’s head absentmindedly.

“I live in Edgeworth.”  Scout said helplessly.  “I’m leaving now.” 

“Take your time.  Dr. Yared is scrubbing in; he’s a very competent and accomplished surgeon, and we have some wonderful residents here assisting, but it may take a while, so be safe traveling.  Especially in this weather.

“Thank you.  I’ll see you in a bit.”  Then Scout hung up. 

* * *

 

On the road to Philly, Scout’s phone rang again.  Liam.  She still hadn’t figured out how to use the stupid Bluetooth the S5 came with, so she picked up, hit speaker, and threw the phone on the dash.  Ordinarily, she'd be driving the big antique '57 Bel Air she loved more than most human beings, but the little Audi her mother had left behind when Scout's parents had moved to Alaska was less of a risk in this weather.

“Hey, Li.”  She called towards the phone.

“Scout, Jesus Christ.  Is he okay?” 

“Who called you?”  Scout was wondering how on earth Liam had managed to find out about the accident so quickly. 

“I’m Royce’s emergency medical contact.  Hospital called me a half hour ago.”  Scout used the tiptronic option in the car to down shift as the snow got heavier. 

“Jem’s….gonna be okay, they think.  I’m on my way to Philly now.  If I ever make it through this blizzard.”  Her fingers danced nervously on the steering wheel. 

“Listen, Scout.  This is bad.  Royce is out.  He’s fucking comatose right now.  They took him into surgery and he started to crash, so they induced the coma.  There is no way he’ll be able to fulfill his obligations for Sparta now, and J.J. took a fit when he realized the two of them were the ‘rowdy playboys’ who were all over WCAU this morning.   I know none of this is easy for you, right now, but as your brother’s business partner, there are things we need to discuss.” 

Scout nodded.  When Jem had decided that he wanted to start an MMA club team to train fighters to fight in the UFC, she had supported him and agreed to be his unofficial VP, even though her personal preferences found her turning up her nose at almost any type of fighting that wasn’t pugilism.  Jem had handled everything in the fight department: trainers, sponsors, bids, fights, etcetera.   Liam, his best friend from UPenn had become his business manager. Her role had primarily been as little sister and advisor.  They had grown up with a grandfather who had been middleweight champion of the world turned trainer.  She knew enough to know that fighting was a business, above all else, and she was prepared for what Liam was about to tell her.

“J.J. was royally pissed, but he is comfortable with what we agreed upon.  Now, look, I’m just your brother’s business partner, and I know nothing about the fighting angle of things.  But you’re VP, and I personally think you know this business better than Jem.  Effective immediately, you are to take over as manager for this team.  You retain the privilege of selecting a fighter to compete at Sparta, or deferring if you think you can’t prepare a fighter in time.  But J.J. needs to know as soon as possible, okay?”

Scout puffed out a breath of air.  She had agreed to be on the sidelines to assist her brother.  She never thought she would have to assume this role.  But now that it was here, she had obligations to fulfill.  Her brother loved his team.  His team broke their backs and busted their asses to be the best, for themselves, and the team as a whole.  It was time to step up.  “Uh-huh.  I know who I want.” 

“Okay, kid.  Listen, call me later when you talk to the doctors, okay?  I’m at home right now, but I will come by once you call.”

“Okay, Li.” Scout said.

“Scout, I trust you.  Jem trusts you.  You can do this.” 

“Thanks, Li.”  She hung up.  Then she texted J.J. Riley a total of twelve letters.  Her bid was sealed.  She had picked her man for Sparta.

* * *

 At noon, alone in Jem’s recovery room while he slept off the anesthesia, Scout made her ninth and last phone call of the day. 

“Gus Corvin.”  The old man barked in his gravelly tone.

“Hi Gus.  It’s Scout.”

“How’s your brother doin?”  He asked.

“Well,” Scout sighed.  “He’s still with us.  But….looks like it’s just you and I and the boys for now.” 

She wondered how "the boys": the training team and corner men her brother employed, were taking the news.  She had called Jamie earlier and asked him to tell everyone what happened.  Gus was an old ring rat.  He’d been around boxing since he was sweeping up popcorn and peanuts in the town auditorium at age nine.  Jamie was an excellent MMA trainer with experince in Judo, Muay Thai and Brazillian Jiu Jitsu.  Together, the two were an incredible duo.  They trained as guests of Kale Walsh, a gym owner in Pittsburgh.  Their lone fighter on their side of the state trained under them.  Philly was where her brother lived, where Royce trained, and their two other fledgling fighters, who were about to be passed over.

Gus grunted.

“I talked to Colt Boyd.  Remember Fitzy’s, where Granddad would watch the boys spar sometimes?”

“Yeah.”  She could hear the sounds of leather on flesh and shouting and music and jump ropes and swinging speed bags in the background.  Comforting sounds.

“I’m pulling us out of Kale’s gym.”

“Why?” Gus grumbled.

“Kale is a pig and doesn’t know shit about shit.”  It was best not to mince words with Gus.  Being straight was your best option.  And Gus didn't trust anyone who didn't swear.

“All right.” 

“Colt’s tomorrow morning, around 10? 

“Yeah.”  Gus said.

“Oh and Gus?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Kondo he’s got Sparta.”  


	2. Mathúin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've done before, I'll post the songs I use when I write that I envision as the kind of soundtrack, just in case anyone is interested in what the scenes "sound" like.

 

 

 

 

At half past midnight, Scout face planted directly onto the burgundy red couch in front of the massive fireplace that took up her living room.  One wonderful thing about inheriting her great-grandparents’ house, being that it was 200 years older than she, it had been built so consciously she could heat almost the entire house just by using the fireplaces.  When she was in the mood to make the effort.  She bellowed into the giant pillow, the dog sticking his enormous fluffy blockhead in her face. 

“Ten HOURS” she groaned.  She hadn’t imagined she’d have been able to spend that much time in a car in a single day, but she’d done it, going to Philly and back.  After she’d tucked herself and the dog into her queen size bed, she scratched the top of his head and yawned.  

“Did you have a good time with Megan today?”  She asked rhetorically.  Her friend from next door had come in to take the big Newfoundland to her house while Scout had been gone.  The trip would have been too much for the curious canine.  Scout sipped hot chocolate with fluff and marshmallows, and drifted off to the sounds of NatGeo. 

* * *

  _Announcer’s Voice: Welcome back to ESPN2.  We’re bringing you the exclusive coverage for the upcoming MMA event that has everyone talking: SPARTA, the War on the Shore will be held July 4 th of this year in Atlantic City.  And now that it’s been announced that legendary Russian Sambo champion Koba will be coming to the United States to participate in this epic event, we also want to update our viewers on another development that has been in MMA news over the last two days.  Both manager Jem McKinley and fighter William Royce were involved in a major car accident over this weekend, leaving Heorot MMA to select another fighter to train for Sparta.  J.J. Riley confirms that bid as of yesterday morning belongs to Kondo McKenna, a 14-0 fighter out of Pittsburgh known for his speed and tenacity.  Born deaf in Ghana, and adopted by a Pennsylvania couple in 1996, the 24 year old’s name, trainer Jamie Kenzel tells us, is Swahili for “battle.”  And what a battle it shall be.  We in the MMA community are thinking of the families of both McKinley and Royce this morning as they recover in a Philadelphia area hospital.  More on this new fighter tomorrow night at 10 on Sparta Exclusive, our weekly update program going into the tournament.  In other news…._

* * *

Scout crunched out to the car through the snow in her favorite low-heeled boots, her brown Castille Uggs that Jem had bought for her when they were wandering around downtown Philly.  Dark skinny jeans and a fitted emerald green scoop neck sweater rounded out the rest of her outfit, and she’d put on her big, cozy wool letterman jacket, charcoal grey with black sleeves and the “Heorot MMA” logo on the back.  Along with naming her children after characters from To Kill a Mockingbird, Scout and Jem’s mother had poured literary appreciation into her children in other ways, and naming their club Heorot after the mead hall in Beowulf was Jem’s nod to that.  Meaning hall of the “Hart” which was a male deer, Jem also liked the dual concept of masculinity and “heart” which he hoped all his fighters would have.  Also acknowledging that warriors who live and gather together at a mead hall develop a very strong bond, almost like a family bond, the name, Jem thought, perfectly rounded out the ideals to which he was hoping to aspire. 

 Scout punched in the code to open the garage, which was detached from the house, and looked over her car.  It had started out as a rather tragically neglected cherry red 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible, which she carefully nursed back to life with the help of some very helpful and knowledgeable antique car mechanics, who fulfilled her bizarre request to match Behr paint’s “Precious Emerald” and repaint the entire thing.  The white wall tires, the off white leather interior (almost never seen because of the Newf whose presence required blankets on the seats) and the sweet new engine brought her “baby” to life.  And she drove it every chance she got.  She opened the door and the dog bounded into the passenger’s seat. 

 Scout pulled up to the little alley at Colt’s where she’d parked the few times she’d been there since it had changed from Fitzy’s.  Truth to tell, she hadn’t been to Fitzy’s since she was nine anyway.  Her grandfather had only brought her to that particular gym a few times.  But she’d met Colt and become friendly with him when her brother had broken into the MMA side of the fighting business, and she’d come by to look at independent fighters Colt thought were decent but didn’t have the time to train.  She’d look at them for her brother, who wanted a better look than a YouTube clip before making the trip from Philly himself.  She pulled her big black Céline luggage tote (a particularly luxurious birthday gift to herself after a bad breakup) out of the backseat and brushed the leather a bit.  She had a terrible weakness for couture handbags.  But nothing impractical.  The volume of quirky contents she carried with her had saved the day on more than one occasion.  Obediently, her dog hopped out of the car and shook himself out as she shut the door.  She rounded the corner to Colt’s, pulling the door open.

 Tommy Conlon had gotten to the gym an hour before his trainer.  He’d taken an especially convoluted route on his run to the gym that day just to have time on his own without him.  But he had showed up eventually, and directed Tommy to the next set of revolutions.  He was hitting the bag, and quite enjoying the blasts of cold air from outside that hit his body and came through the chain link fence where Fenroy sat, as the different trainers and fighters and corner guys came in throughout the morning.  The sucking sound of the door opening thrust a fresh breeze of chilly Pittsburgh winter air towards Tommy, and with it, the slightest scent of mandarin, iris and lotus.  And then there was a loud bark. 

* * *

 

(Play) Ellie Goulding- Explosions

* * *

Scout shuffled inside and shook involuntarily, hugging her coat close.  She ushered her big Newf into the gym quietly, she had asked Colt if he was all right with her bringing a small horse to his training facility, and he hadn’t minded one bit.  He didn’t have dogs himself, he said, or he’d bring them.  She hoped that he had mentioned it to his staff. 

“I’m Scout McKinley, it’s Fenroy, right?” 

She smiled.  She learned to smile a lot being a child in old school gyms where a lot of men were uneasy having girls around.

“Yeah, Hi!” Fenroy said.  He came around the corner. 

“Colt told me you’d be coming in, and your team has already settled in, so yeah, you’re good to go.” 

Then Fenroy laughed when the Newfoundland barked loudly. “Who’s this?”  He leaned down and pet his big head. 

“This is my big monster,” she said, laughing.  “No barking.”  She told the dog. 

Then she turned to Fenroy. “I hope it’s okay, Colt said it was fine-“

“Hey Scout!” Jamie yelled from across the room.

Scout stood up on her tiptoes and waved. 

Fenroy smiled “You’re good, go ahead.” 

Then she walked around the entrance and into the main gym, and into view. 

 

Paddy Conlon didn’t notice Scout.  But he definitely saw Tommy notice Scout.  Tommy actually stopped punching and broke focus, which never happened, and Paddy scrunched up his eyes in confusion until he turned to see what his son was looking at.  If it weren’t for the wavy reddish hair past her shoulders, he would’ve sworn to himself that he was looking at a young Gene Tierney.  He watched Tommy lick his lips and roll around the toothpick he insisted on keeping in his mouth as much as possible, until he was biting on it.

“Hey!  Come on!  Back to work!” He grumbled. 

 

Tommy watched her, whoever she was, with fascination as she strode over to the group of men who were gathered around a sparring pair on the mats in the corner.  He was entranced.  She reminded him of the starlets in the old movies his mom had loved so much.  Halfway over to the group she seemed to belong to, she took the dog’s leash off of him, and the fluffy, black, 130 pound Newfound barreled towards the oldest of the men, the skinny, frail looking guy he heard them call Gus. 

“Mathúin!”  She snapped, and the dog skidded to a stop.

“Gentle with Gus.”  She said, as she approached her team.  She turned towards Tommy and flushed a bit in her freckled cheeks when she saw him looking at her, turning her head quickly to sweep her hair in front of her face.  The dog enthusiastically greeted all of the members of her team, and they swallowed Scout up in their fold, chattering away as Kondo grabbed her and hugged her, ecstatic about Sparta.

Tommy noticed his father laughing and he scowled.

“Whasso funny?”

“Mathúin” he said, pronouncing the dog’s name, _ma-HOO-in_ the way Scout had.  “is old Irish for bear.”

Fenroy walked by, carrying a stack of flyers to pin on the bulletin board for members out back, and Tommy tapped him gently as he walked by the bags. 

“Hey.”  He said.  He and Fenroy had shared an uneasy trust ever since Tommy had gotten the idea that it had been Fenroy who had posted the Pittsburgh Beatdown video of him on Youtube.  He gestured over to Scout and Kondo, who were talking enthusiastically together. 

“Issat her boyfriend?” He asked.

“Sinless Scout?” he laughed.  “Nah, man, it’s much more serious than that.  He’s her fighter.”

Tommy furrowed his brow.  On the one hand, on the extremely rare occasion Tommy saw a girl who he was certain could hold his attention longer than one night for reasons other than physical enjoyment, who was apparently uninvolved, he was pleased.  On the other, he was shocked that she seemed to be part of the training team.  He wasn’t used to that.  The girls he knew were usually around fighters for reasons other than learning the sweet science.  But as he gazed at her from what he believed was time to time throughout the day, and was in actuality aggressive, hungry, persistent staring, he saw that she was actively working.  The big teddy bear she’d brought with her stayed by her side most of the day.   Physically, she wasn’t just a pretty face.   In her pretty green low cut sweater he could see how delicate and pale her skin was, and wondered how soft it might be.  She was busty, with a high, round behind, and legs so long they seemed to start in her ribcage.  But she was by no means a beanpole.  Tommy tended to like girls with a certain soft curvaceousness.  As he went through his workout routine, and listened to Paddy’s instructions, he watched her in those gaps in focus he allowed himself to refresh his mind.

 

Scout had seen the Pittsburgh Beatdown video.  Jem had texted her the link with the caption ‘LMAO’.  Neither were fans of Mad Dog’s cockiness.  She’d seen this fighter’s intensity in the video, his drive, his viciousness, his raw power.  But she hadn’t realized how physically imposing he was until she was walking across the gym for one reason or another (towels for Kondo, water from the fountain for Gus, taking Mathúin out for a break).  Her heart almost stopped when she took her phone upstairs to call the hospital for the third time for an update on Jem and could see Tommy Riordan staring at her through the slats in the steps, his eyes on her as he worked a speed bag.  She usually never found herself intrigued by a fighter for reasons other than skill and potential, and it made her uneasy.

 

After dark, when Scout was getting ready to leave, and Tommy had enlisted another fighter to spar (civilly) with him, he stopped as his opponent fixed his gloves and watched her walk out, the cold blast of air as she opened the door sending a chill through his muscles as the air blew across the sweat on his skin. 

 


	3. Introductions

Scout shoved her right hip into the Bel Air’s door, closing it.   She shivered against the cold Pittsburgh morning air, the wind howling between the buildings and over the hills, whistling as it whisked cold air down her neck.   Mathúin stood patiently waiting, wagging away with his tail, staring expectantly at his human.  Scout secured her bag on her arm, and the binder she was carrying against her chest, and the hot chocolate she was drinking, and Mathúin’s leash.  With a sigh she hustled down the hill towards the corner where she’d turn to go into Colt’s.  Across the street she saw Tommy Riordan’s trainer closing the door to his car, a ’75 Oldsmobile by the looks of it.  He looked up at her and offered a friendly smile, which she returned.

She shuffled into the gym, brushing her feet on the mat inside, following after someone else who was coming in before her, holding the door for Paddy thereafter. 

He muttered a bashful  “thanks”, she a “You’re welcome.”

Mathúin decided that he had found a friend.  Though his judgments of humans generally centered around how they smelled and how they treated Scout, his instincts were nevertheless usually spot on.  He lagged behind Scout, who still had his leash on him, his focus on Paddy as he walked across the gym to where he found Tommy sparring with another fighter on a mat beside the ring.  Paddy greeted Tommy with a curt nod. 

 The two took a quick water break, Tommy going for his water bottle while watching Scout.  She dumped her bag on the floor with very little ceremony, and sat her cocoa down near it, dropping the binder beside the rest.  She unclipped Mathúin’s leash and he greeted Kondo and Jamie.  Then she was chattering away with the boys while she took off her wool letterman Jacket.  Her hair was up a ponytail, in curls at the ends, and as she peeled off the jacket he could see she was wearing a tight black t-shirt with saloon-style lettering wrapped around a photo of Heavyweight Champion of the World Jack Johnson, the words reading “The Galveston Giant.”  She had on the same kind of jeans and the same boots she’d had the day before.  Then he noticed something.  Her huge dog was now over by his father, and his father was petting his big, furry head, talking to him affectionately.  Tommy rolled his eyes. 

  _Great.  A fuckin’ dog gets treated better than me n’ ma.  Oh shit, here she comes._

Tommy turned away, back to his sparring. 

Scout jogged over to Paddy.

“Sorry!”  she called  “I’m sorry!” 

* * *

(Play) The Civil Wars - Poison & Wine

* * *

She hurried up to the dog, patting his back gently, but to get his attention.   Tommy was glad to have the distraction of a sparring partner.  It was one thing to watch her over there, going about her business, but with the animosity he held for his father, all he felt was jealousy that Paddy was speaking to her, and he had the sickening feeling that whatever came out of his father’s mouth was somehow a lie that he had the strange urge to protect her from.

 “Bubba!”  She said quietly, crouching to talk to the big fluffy dog.  “Not everyone is waiting with baited breath for you to come visit..” 

She stood up and put her right hand out to Paddy “I’m Scout.  And this is Mathúin.  He’s very rude, and I apologize.”   She grumbled the last sentence, glaring at the dog, half kidding.

Paddy shook her hand, smiling at her to put her at ease.  She looked at him carefully, and then glanced over at his fighter.  _Father and son?_ She wondered.

 “Paddy Conlon.  It’s just fine.  He’s a very nice dog.  Big boy.”

Scout laughed.  “Well, he’s within the weight range for his breed, but it’s a miracle he’s not 300 pounds.  He’s as bad a scavenger for food as he is for attention!”  She laughed.

“Oh! Uh, this is my s-I mean, this is, I’m his trainer.  Tommy, c’mere!” Paddy seemed flustered.  

_Father and son.  Definitely._

Paddy raised his voice at the end of his sentence, to be sure he was heard.  He couldn’t resist introducing them, considering Tommy had clearly shown interest, however nonverbal it may have been.  Tommy scowled at Paddy as he stopped sparring and crossed over to them, and kept the ugly look on his face until he turned to look at her, pulling off his glove and shaking her bare hand with his taped one. 

“Tommy Riordan.”  He panted. 

His voice had changed from the growling, irascible tone he’d used during the interactions he’d had with his father since he’d come back.  It was soft, and gentle, suggesting he meant her no harm, his lips slightly parted as he waited for her to tell him her name, even though he already knew it.  He was reminded again of the stars he’d seen in the endless old Hollywood movies his mother had watched when she was sick, while he was out, going to school or to his job thereafter. _So we could eat.  So I could try to get the heat turned back on by October_. Tommy shook those thoughts off.  He studied her.  _Laura.  That was the movie_.  That’s who she looked like.  Scout’s skin was as soft and unblemished as a doll’s, with a healthy peachy pink flush behind her lily-white cheeks.  Her hair was even prettier up close, a light russet color with hints of strawberry blonde. Her enormous brown eyes looked at him curiously, and she blinked.   She couldn’t figure out which of his features she wanted to stare at first.  She had been intimidated by fighters before, but she had always stood her ground.  This was completely different...he...unnerved her, disarmed her. Though in a surprisingly pleasant way.  

“Hi,” she said, softly.  “Scout.  McKinley” 

She put out her hand and shook his, moving awkwardly around the tape with her fingers.  “and this is Mathúin.” 

She gestured towards the big dog, who looked up at Tommy expectantly.  Tommy reached out and ruffled the fur on Mathúin’s head.    Risking awkwardness, she turned back to Paddy to address them both. 

“Well, it was very nice meeting you both.  Sorry again, about this one,”

She gestured to Mathúin, clapping her hands twice as she started to gradually back up, encouraging him to follow her.  She was terribly, terribly embarrassed. 

Paddy smiled and gave a dismissive gesture with his hand.  “He can come see me anytime.” 

Scout leaned down to look at Mathúin and he looked up at her, bumping her nose gently with his.  “Well, all right. Careful, though.” She said.  “He’s like a barnacle.”  

She turned to leave and then whirled around one more time, smiling at Paddy and jerking her head towards the huge windows out front as she backed up.

“Your girlfriend’s a real looker.” 

Paddy looked puzzled for a moment, until he realized he’d parked his car out front. 

Then he grinned.  “Thank you,” he said.  “If that Bel Air outside is the car you drove here in, you’ve got a pretty fine machine there yourself.” 

Scout laughed .  “Oh thank you! That’s Miss Pegeen! The ol’ ball and chain.”  She giggled and walked back to her team, Tommy’s eyes trained on her big, shapely behind as she walked.  When Tommy turned back to him, his father was smiling and shaking his head, and Tommy scowled at him.

* * *

 Given that Mad Dog reserved the ring for the afternoons, Scout and the boys had use of the ring that morning.  While Jamie and Konane stood on one side of the ring, Scout and Gus stood ringside and called out instructions to Kondo and Jack, his sparring partner, as they moved around each other.  For now, his hearing aids were taped in.  At Sparta, he’d go without them.  Tommy watched Scout as she stood against the ropes, her back to him the entire time.  He admired the curve of her waist as it dipped in from her ribcage and lead to her ample behind.  Then he scolded himself for being so unfocused.  Tommy went through the rest of his workout, and started on his lifting.  As he was in the middle of his lateral raises, he noticed something that completely shocked him.  Scout was climbing into the ring with Kondo.  He tuned his ears to their conversation to try to see what she was saying.

 “Okay,” Scout said to Kondo, who outweighed her by about fourty-five pounds, and towered over her by about seven inches.  She grinned, fitting her hands into focus mitts.  “I’ve seen you fight plenty of times, but I want to experience what your timing and distance are like for myself, you know?”  Kondo nodded at her.

  “So…let’s do… jab cross, left hook, right cross, strong right finish?” 

 Tommy watched with fascination as they ran the combinations over and over again.  She certainly wasn’t a professional trainer, but she was holding the mitts right, and standing correctly. 

 “Okay, now, double jab, right upper, left hook, right cross.”

 Then they ran that one, Scout moving towards Kondo now as they worked, so she could see his footwork.  Then she changed the combination again.

 “Okay, now, jab cross, left uppercut, right hand, left hook, strong right.” 

The faster, more complicated set of punches was run as many times as Scout could take before she shouted “Tap!” quite breathlessly.  Then she smiled at Kondo and said “Awesome.  Good work.”  Tommy watched what he estimated was her DD chest heaving up and down as she slowly drew in air.

Scout laughed and huffed up a breath into the air, knocking her stray bangs out of the way.  “Okay, I think I got it,” she said, laughing.  She was still panting a bit, and he noticed the flush in her cheeks.  Tommy licked his thick, full lips when she snuck out between two of the ropes.  The fluid, unconsciously sensuous way she moved as she bent and swung her left leg and upper body through the ropes and then followed with the rest of her hourglass figure caught his attention and sent his imagination running wild.  He’d never thought he would have found the idea of a girl going into the ring like that attractive, but he realized she was an enthusiast for the sport just trying to understand it even better, and he admired that.  Besides, she’d maintained her grace and elegance throughout the entire exchange, moving as though it had been a dance instead of UFC training.  He thought she really must be a child of boxing, because there was the old school philosophy coming through. 

Scout exhaled and picked up her binder from down on the floor, carrying it with her to a bench beside the ring under which Mathúin was sleeping.  She wrote furiously for a few minutes.  Then she picked up the book and held it to her chest by the edges, the pages pressed against her as she watched the training session continue.  Tommy noticed that the plastic sleeves on the binder cover had collages in both of them.  There were photos upon photos of old time boxers inside, all black and white and sepia toned. 

Scout had dug her fight notebook out of her desk at home when she knew was going back to a training gym.  It held all her notes and musings and things to be remembered, and details on fights and venues and times and dates, and training drills, and observations, and the occasional doodle.  Tommy watched her rest her chin on the tops of her hands and gently suck her bottom lip for just a moment, and suddenly he had enough of the gym for the day.  A girl like that was out of the question for him, for more reasons than one, and looking at her for another minute would have been torture.  He’d have to find a way to ignore her when he got back to the gym, but he could do that tomorrow.  For now, he'd run home, in the steady, unseasobaly warm rain that fell on the Pittsburgh streets.


	4. Chuisle

The next morning, Scout sat against the far wall at Colt’s, half watching as Jamie practiced submission holds with Kondo.  Her attention was on her cell phone.  She kept clicking the home button repeatedly to see if somehow, by some fortunate accident, her phone simply hadn’t vibrated or lit up it’s screen, and her brother had indeed texted her back.  When she called the hospital for the last time the night before, she had been able to speak with her mother, who had flown in from Anchorage.  While Jem was completely coherent, unlike William Royce who remained in a coma, he was far from being able to leave the hospital, decidedly required to remain there for the foreseeable future.  There were still surgeries that his doctors may be required to perform, to repair skin and his extensive wounds.  But Liam had been to visit him nearly every day and today had brought him his cell phone and laptop, both of which he would be allowed limited use of.  He still needed to rest most of the day.  But Scout kept hoping he’d text her back.  She stretched out her legs, comfortable in their dark indigo skinny jeans, and tapped her feet together.  She’d worn her black Chuck Taylor low tops today, happy that it was warm enough that she didn’t need boots.  She had on a blue and hunter green gingham shirt.  Her hair she had blown out that morning after her shower, and it was parted far on the side, hiding some of her face with her swooping soft bangs.  Tommy, who was practicing with the focus mitts with Paddy, and who happened to be facing in her direction, cast glances at her throughout the morning. 

 He spent the night before running home in the budding twilight as the sun set over Pittsburgh, getting into the house to see his dad unloading groceries.  He had made a special trip to the grocery store on the way back from Colt’s to get food for Tommy, to comply with his diet.  Most of what he’d had in the house wasn’t suitable.  He’d nodded at Paddy and headed immediately for the stairs.  He got ready for his shower, stripping down to his boxer briefs in his room and fetching a towel from the closet.  He turned the water up high in the shower, standing under the pressure with his head tipped downwards, letting the water wash over him, soothing and relaxing his muscles.  He’d spent the remainder of the night eating dinner with Paddy in strained silence, and sitting up with him to watch some sports and the news.  When he’d finally retired to his attic room, he’d tossed and turned, watching shadows from passing cars dance across his ceiling.  He found his mind wandering to a certain shapely auburn haired beauty …again.  He’d actually allowed his thoughts about her to distract him from training, which had never happened.  Usually training had been a welcome distraction from female issues.  Short term girlfriends, fuck buddies, those rare, vengeful actively psychotic stalkers who think they own you because you got drunk enough to sleep with them one night.  Girls were fun, a good time.  When he had time for them.  When he picked one he found decent enough to trifle with.    He’d been soured against anything resembling family life for so long he liked to keep relationships as casual and low key as possible. 

He certainly wasn’t used to lying in bed at night thinking about a specific girl other than to recall past sexual encounters for the purposes of visual aid.  Not since he was young.

Now, Scout was standing up, on the other side of the gym, and looking at her cell phone.  She went quickly up the stairs, and out of Tommy’s sight.

 “Jem?” Scout asked as she slid her thumb across the bottom of the screen to answer, breathing heavily after her run up the stairs. 

“Hey Kiddo,” he brother croaked. 

“How are you?” She asked, finding a little corner upstairs with a chair in it, close by the railing where she could look down and see the entire gym, including Mathúin, who was sleeping by himself against the wall where Scout had been sitting.  He had raised his big fluffy head when Scout got up, showing halfhearted interest in the fact that she was leaving him by himself, but quickly recovering emotionally and turning back to sleep.  She plunked herself down in the old armchair and tucked her feet up under her. 

“I’m okay, you know….lotsa pain, but mom’s here so that’s good.” 

She heard Jem sucking something through a straw and the shuffling of people in his room.  “Yeah, I talked to her last night.  I’m glad she’s there.”

“Everything okay?  I heard you left Kale’s gym.” 

“Yeah I did, I-“ Scout stopped for a moment as Tommy Riordan rounded the corner coming up the stairs.  Puzzled, she looked away as he passed her going to the lockers.  He went all the way to the back of the hall, and opened his locker, turning the combination on the lock.  Tommy had a snack with him.  Paddy had encouraged him to snack often, and he was ready for a bit of a break.  He took a chair at the back of the upstairs locker space, in some of the empty space around the corner from where the actual showers and locker room were.  He sipped water from his Camelback and chewed away at his protein bar.  He could hear Scout’s lyrical, expressive voice as she spoke to someone on the phone.  She didn’t have the typical ‘Burgh accent he had, and that most of the people he knew had.  She could have been from anywhere in the United States.  Anywhere at all.

“I don’t like Kale, Jem.  There’s speculation that he’s…overly cooperative on the smoker fight scene.  Not something I want to be associated with, ever.  And his girlfriend is a miserable flirt.  She gets off on attention from fighters, but she’s sneaky, and manipulative, and I don’t need that kind of shit or drama in my life.” 

Tommy could hear the stress vibrating in her voice. 

“Yeah, okay, I can understand.  It’s gotta be your show for now, so, whatever you think.  And don’t be afraid to ask Gus and Jamie for help, you know that.  Just keep me posted.”  Jem said, lifting his arm in his bed so a nurse could check some of his bandages.

“Yeah.  I know.  Thanks Jem.” 

 

"How's school?  You know the guys can handle it, just make sure you're getting done what you need to."

Scout paused, and exhaled.  “It's fine, Jem.  I know how to manage it."  He was asking about the Master's degree in library science she was in the middle of pursuing.  Oddly enough, it was the only part of her life she felt she did have under control.  "So…are we going to talk about it?”  She asked.

Jem answered someone’s question in the background and Scout could hear some shuffling.  “Scout, I don’t even remember what happened.  I remember the bar.  And the other bar.  And the club.  And the other bar.  And then I woke up and you were looking at me like you were trying to find out how to unplug me.”

Scout sighed. “Jem, how could you even get in the car with him?  Liam told me yesterday his BAC was .18.  That’s insane.” 

“Scout, please, I know you’re pissed at me, but now, please, I just really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Jem,” Scout snapped, standing up, pacing back and forth in the hallway, alternately close and far from Tommy as he sat chewing his protein bar.  “You scared….the. living. shit. out of me.  You put this business and everyone involved with it in jeopardy.   And you risked being kicked out of Sparta, which could be the big ticket international exposure you need to get the sponsorship offers that you’re hoping for.  Since that seems so very important to you.  You’re 32 years old, Jem, this isn’t undergrad.” 

She was almost shouting now.  And all of a sudden, she was about to cry.  She sucked in a breath and it hitched. 

“Jem,” she started.  Then she stopped pacing and stood against the wall next to the door to Colt’s vacant office.  Suddenly the gravity of his accident had hit her.  She’d spent the past few days focused on nothing but the team, and now that she heard her brother’s voice and knew the true gravity of the situation.  She realized then how dark the hallway was.  She was cast in shadow.  It only added to the darkness of her mood.

 “Jem, you’re my best friend.  What if you died?  I’d never be okay if you died.”  She was almost weeping now.  “And mom and dad-” 

She hitched in her breath again and her brother made a disappointed sound. In himself, more than anything else. 

“Scout, come on.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  We can fight about this later.  But I need you on my team right now, okay?”

Scout whimpered, wiping tears away from her cheeks with the back of her hand.  “Okay.” 

“Okay.  I love you Boo Radley.”

Scout laughed.  It was their special name for each other.  Since so many people called each other “boo,” and there was a character called “Boo” in the book their names came from, they often used it as a code name for one another.  Dinner reservations, paging each other in crowded places just to embarrass the other, private jokes between the two.  Although they were eight years apart, she and her brother had always been close friends.  Perhaps because of their age difference they appreciated one another more, because Scout had never really had the chance to annoy Jem when they were children, she was always kind a novelty to him from the day their mom brought home a baby.

“Love You Too.”  She said.  They hung up. 

 

* * *

 (Play) Bastille featuring Gabrielle Aplin - "Dreams" (Cover) 

* * *

 

She sighed, and pulled the phone away from her face, staring at the screen as it went dark.  Then her lower lip trembled and she closed her eyes, tipping her head downwards.  Big thick tears, fattened by being held back for so long, fell past her feet and landed on the floor.  She breathed in deeply, her breath catching several time before she was able to take it breath fully.  Then she looked up and almost jumped out of her skin.  There was Tommy Riordan, in his usual grey sweatpants and wife beater, staring at her.  A dead stare he cast directly in her eyes with aggressive intent.  He was leaning slightly against the wall, and the curiosity in his eyes as he twirled a toothpick around in the corner of his mouth unnerved her.  But she was too emotional to slink away with a polite nod. 

“Why’re you always staring at me?”  She asked, sounding a bit moody.

When he shrugged her shoulders she turned to leave and he pulled the toothpick out of his mouth, holding it between his still taped fingers.

“Wait,” he said, his voice a deep, husky timbre.  A command. 

She stopped.  And waited a moment before turning to face him.  She put her hands, and her phone, in the pockets of her tight jeans and walked towards him, very carefully.  She’d mastered getting closer to someone without making it seem like a threat, a good skill to have in the fighting world.  She just looked at him, waiting for him to say something. 

“You aright?”  He asked. 

Scout scowled a little bit.  “No…” she looked around, shy about the fact that she’d been crying a bit, trying not to tear up again.  She looked up at him and tried her best smile. “But I will be.” 

He moved towards her rather quickly, quicker than she expected to see someone move outside the ring.  In the darkness, she was disoriented and could only really see his big shape as he crossed into the shadows.  He was beside her before she knew what he was intending to do.  She took a deep breath in as he carefully moved towards her, backing her slowly and carefully into the wall.  He was so big, she noticed.  So broad and imposing, and yet, not frightening.  Her heart hammered in her chest for other reasons.  He looked down at her from a few inches above, leaving less than a foot between them at the wall. 

“It’s easy to scare someone this way,” she breathed, before she knew what she was really saying.  Later, she wouldn’t know why exactly she said it.  Perhaps to prove to him that she wasn’t afraid.

“You scared?” he asked. 

She blinked up at him with her giant brown eyes, surprising herself in her flirtatiousness.  She was close enough to see droplets of sweat cooling on his skin.  She closed her eyes for only a moment, and that was when she felt the slightly rough, cloth-like texture of the tape on his hands against her right cheekbone as he gently threaded his fingers in her hair and held her cheek ever so gently.

“You sure?” He asked. 

She shuddered involuntarily with excitement, worrying her fingers along the smooth lacquer paint on the cement bricks behind her.  But her voice was strong.

“Yes.”  She said, casting her eyes downward deliberately, then raising her eyes to meet his again. 

His big, pouty lips parted and he shook his head, slightly confused.  “Why?”

She looked straight at him, tipping her cheek gently against his hand to encourage him, despite herself, looking up at him with a kind of sweet submissiveness.  She had never in her life been so bold.  “There are men who hurt women.   You aren’t one of them.” 

“How’re you sure?” He asked, lunging for her slightly with his face, bringing his forehead inches away from hers.  His left hand reached out and gently looped his fingers around her waist. 

“I’ve known both types, in this environment.”  She said, seeming to balk a little bit when he put his arm around her middle, but not asking him to stop. 

“I know You scare everyone else.  But you don’t scare me.” 

Before he placed his big, fleshy lips against her soft, pouty mouth, she could have sworn she heard him speak the faintest whisper as he muttered “A Chuisle” against her wet mouth.

It was Irish that she recognized.  Tommy would never realize that he had uttered it.  It meant “my pulse.”  She had very little time to think about the significance of it, because she was pressed against his chest, and he was pinning her against the wall, his chest, and other parts of him hard as a hot rock, as their lips touched chastely for a moment before his tongue searched her mouth.  She loved feeling secure and held, exactly how he was holding her now, and wondered how he could possibly have known.  Or maybe it was just his way. 

His hands pulled her face gently against his as their tongues seared something hot and electric inside the other.  It lasted moments, but felt like forever to them both.  He couldn't explain what was happening, he only knew that she soothed him from the inside out.  That suddenly a gentle calm had surrounded the buring ember of rage that sat in the pit of his belly, and a cooling peace passed through him, a sweet relief, a respite he'd never known. 

Then suddenly, a loud crash from directly below them, and a shout, and some commotion.  Scout jumped, and Tommy attempted to redirect her back to their embrace with his body and his hands and his mouth, completely out of his mind with passion and drive, but she wriggled out from between him and the wall, ducking under his giant arm and heading for the stairs as quickly as she could, her legs weak and trembling and her heart hammering in her chest. 

 


	5. Mending

Scout flew down the stairs at Colt’s as quickly as she was able to carry herself. 

* * *

(Play) The Gaslight Anthem - "Desire"

* * *

 She wanted to be distracted, by anything other than the strange encounter she’d just had.  She hadn’t kissed anyone in an overwhelmingly long time, and every first kiss she’d had with someone had always been in the context of some sort of date, or at least socially appropriate time.  She was confused and disoriented.  More than anything, she wanted to take Mathúin with her and go speeding up 65 towards home, where she could light a fire in the fireplace and bury herself under her blanks with a book, or a scary movie, instead of wandering around the gym with her cheeks burning and her body sending her unwanted signals.  No fighters.  Hadn’t that always been her own personal rule?  Making them off limits had simply been something she’d done automatically.  And, for the most part, she didn’t look at fighters as “men” but “boys,” in that she’d been around fighting so consistently throughout her life that she’d never shed her impressions from childhood that she was some sort of a mascot to those who liked her, and an annoyance at best to those who didn’t.  To her, they were athletes.  She knew which ones were and were not attractive; she wasn’t that far removed, but she’d never found herself attracted _to_ one until now.

The commotion on the main floor had died down, and one of Mad Dog’s entourage was walking back towards the center of the gym from beneath the stairs with Fenroy, who was holding a towel to his left eye.  When Scout’s feet hit the gym floor, she stood back at a respectful distance and watched.  She heard Fenroy talking with Colt, who had now come over to look at him.  She could hear their voices.  Fenroy’s, muffled, said “Thought I could pull it out from under the big box, but everything toppled.”

 Scout looked to where they had come from and noticed that a darkened storage room towards the back of the gym had a trail of small items on the floor that had spilled out into the doorway.  That would explain the crash. 

Colt was reassuring Fenroy, encouraging him to keep his head back.  He guided Fenroy to sit down on a stool beside the ring, and when the younger man lifted the towel, quickly becoming soaked with blood, away from his face, a thick, dark stream of blood oozed from a cut over his left eye, and Colt was visibly distressed. 

“You gotta go to the hospital, man.”  He said. 

Fenroy just nodded, swiping at the blood running down his face with the towel.  One of Mad Dog’s entourage stepped over and offered to take him, and Colt nodded.  As Fenroy was being guided to stand up, possibly concussed and disoriented as he was, Scout couldn’t help herself.  She was shocked no one seemed to be doing anything.

“Wait.”  She said.  She crossed her arms across her chest, prepared for the “Go back to your corner, little girl,” speech, but the three men, and now the rest of the gym, Tommy Riordan included, were simply staring at her.  She saw her opportunity.  Still talking, she looked for where Jamie had set up his gym bag and assorted equipment, finding their practice cut bag. 

“That is going to be a geyser in about five minutes.”  She said, her voice echoing across the gym.

They rarely needed the cut bag in training, but Jamie was always prepared.  She picked it up and walked back over to Fenroy, waiting to see what she was going to do.

Suddenly, Scout was all business. Tommy watched her, how her prety face crinkled with worry and her soft russet hair fell in her face as she looked through the little bag to be sure everything she needed was inside.

“You’ll bleed all over the car if you don’t let me patch you.”  She said.  No one said anything.  She decided not to wait for an objection.

“Hold on.”  She shooed Colt and Mad Dog’s associate away from Fenroy, who had tipped his head back up again when she put her fingers under his chin and gently tilted him back so she could see .  “Keep it on there, and press.”  She said. 

She shuffled around in the bag and found gloves, putting them on her hands.  She took a small travel size Vaseline from inside, and used a tongue depressor to smear a good amount on her left glove, right by the curve of her thumb and first finger.  She pulled out two cotton swabs, on long sticks as opposed to the regular Q-tips, some gauze, and a small vial.  She searched around and found a stray ring-style water bottle that had a straw inside that curved for easy drinking in the ring.  She gently took the towel from Fenroy’s hand, and pulled it away from his face.  He hissed a bit, and as she released the pressure, fresh blood poured out of the gash above his eyebrow.  She balled the towel up and placed it beside his chin. 

“Close.”  She said. 

Fenroy closed his eyes and she carefully squirted the water into the gash, catching the runoff and blood with the towel. Then she pressed the cut with the gauze, holding for a moment.  She looked around, realizing that Tommy Riordan was hanging back, hitting the focus mitts, with which Paddy occasionally attacked back, to keep him on his toes, his eyes trained on what she was doing.  She scrunched up her face, irritated and embarrassed by his boldness.  Who did he think he was anyway?

Then she turned back to Fenroy.  “Okay, bud,” she said, talking to him like he was her fighter.  She pulled the gauze away, placing it on the discarded towel and pinched the gash shut between her thumb and first finger as best she could with a fresh pair of pads, holding it carefully.  She transferred the duty to her left hand, pinching the cut shut while she held the adrenaline hydrochloride in her right palm and unscrewed the tiny cap from the vial.  She squeezed the little rubber end of the glass dropper to pull some medication into it.  Then she carefully held the bottle in the cook of her thumb as she dropped a bit of adrenaline hydrochloride onto the dollop of Vaseline on her left hand.  Threading the little dropper back into the bottle one handed took some considerable fine motor skill, but she did it, and placed the bottle back into the kit, which was resting on the ring beside which Fenroy sat.  She found her cotton swabs and carefully used the tips to mix the medication into the Vaseline for the consistency she liked.  When she stopped pinching and pulled the gauze away from Fenroy’s eye, the blood hesitated in the gash before starting a much-improved very slow trickle.  She wiped at it with the gauze and then carefully applied a glob of the Vaseline to his cut using the swabs.  It seemed to staunch the blood flow.  Fenroy looked at her, and she hunched over with her left hand on her thighs, examining her work as she held the swabs firm against the cut. 

“There.  I don’t think you need Avitene.  You’re clotting okay.” 

She pulled the cotton swabs away, the blood held back by the jelly and the epinephrine mixed into it.  She pressed a new gauze pad to the cut and held it there gently.  “Hold, please.”  She said. 

Fenroy lifted his hand to hold the gauze pad against his face, and Scout shuffled in the bag again, tearing off two small pieces of tape to keep it in place. 

“Okay.”  Fenroy let go, and she taped the gauze on top.  She pulled a Kool Pack from the bag and squeezed the tiny sachet inside it until the package burst and she shook it, the entire bag cooling instantly.  She pressed it to his face gently. 

“Wrap this in another towel when you’re in the car, or the rest of your face without the gauze will freeze.”  Fenroy nodded, looking at her with a strange sort of puzzlement.  She looked over to the closest member of her audience, Mad Dog’s associate. “I gave him adrenaline hydrochloride in the cut.  It’s a 1:1000 dilution.  If they ask.” 

He nodded at her, and ushered Fenroy out of the gym.  Colt was on the phone with the 3-11 front receptionist, seeing if he could come in early.  Scout took off her gloves carefully, pinching the palm of one and pulling it off, then hooking her bare finger under the hem of the other, drawing it off carefully, bundling them into a neat little grouping.  She cleaned up their cut bag, keeping anything used separate to be discarded.  Then she walked across the gym as inconspicuously as she could, aware that there were eyes on her.  Everyone who had nursed reservations that she was a meddling, spoiled brat had just been set straight.  The focus and skill with which she’d worked on the cut had impressed more than a few individuals.  Paddy Conlon included.  He had been thoroughly impressed.  He was concerned, however.  He was very worried about his son, and the fact that he'd dissappeared upstairs for several minutes after her worried him greatly.   He watched her go and sit next to Gus Corvin, known in boxing as “Mean Green.”  He was known for being thin and knobby, but tough as nails.  She stored the cut bag next to her on the bench.  She turned in close to Gus, chatting quietly as Kondo wrested Jamie from off his back and tumbled into another hold with him. 

“I may head home.”  She sighed.  “I don’t know.  I-“ 

Gus shook his head.  “You don’t have to go on about it.  Go if you want.  You don’t need to babysit us.” 

Scout had known Gus long enough to know that what he was really telling her was that he wanted her to take a break because she’d been through plenty in the past few days.  Scout leaned her head against Gus’ shoulder.  She wondered how many people in the gym knew he was her great uncle.  He’d married her grandfather’s sister years before Scout was born.  She’d since passed, and he’d become quite cantankerous.  She closed her eyes for a moment, and then stood up.  She went to the wall, where she had dropped her bag and her coat, which Mathúin had commandeered for himself, resting his big head on it.  She stared at him momentarily until he moved, rousing his enormous self with considerable effort and reluctance.  She swung her waist length red wool swing coat around her shoulders, and buttoned it, digging in her bag for his leash.  She clipped his green leather leash to his matching collar as he wiggled himself around, and picked up her Céline handbag, putting her arm through it.  She found the keys to the S5, thankful she’d brought that car today instead of the Bel Air.  There was a steady late winter snow falling outside. 

“Bye guys!” She called to the rest of the team, and they waved to her.  She cast one last glance over at Tommy Riordan, and he made eye contact with her again.  Exasperated, she stalked out of he gym.  She’d driven down into the ‘Burgh in a light dusting, and now the snow was collecting on the ground.  She walked around and up the small alley, opening the car door and dumping her purse in the passenger’s seat.  She pulled her seat back and Mathúin reluctantly squeezed himself through to the back seat.  He’d be asleep by the time they reached route 65, she knew.  She turned on her raido and tried to think of other things.  She honestly tried.  But all she could picture was Tommy Riordan, his image flashing in the back of her mind.  Eventually her mind wandered, but at a red light on Chestnut Street she suddenly spoke out loud to herself, befuddled anew by the entire exchange that had occurred that morning.  “What?”  Was all she said.  Mathúin, startled by her sudden frustration and bewilderment, looked up at her.  “Sorry.” She said.  She tightened her left hand on the wheel.  All she could think of was how amazing he smelled, like some type of particularly wonderful cologne, and fresh laundry, and sweat and faintly of coffee.  “Enough,” she told herself. 

As Tommy sparred with a partner he sometimes worked with, going over and over the drills his father had given him and mixing in ones that he had learned in the corps, he tried to push Scout from his mind.  Everything about their encounter had been a sensory overload for him, and she had broken the spell when she wriggled away like that.  He had immediately placed his forehead head against the cool cement wall for a moment, banging his fists against the walls in frustration.  Then he’d fetched his mouth guard from the little case he kept it in and put it in his mouth, stalking back downstairs after her, a dark mood settling over him.  He ran his tongue over the appliance, and had clenched it tightly in his teeth as she fixed Fenroy’s cut.  As he watched her work, he thought with regret that he could never let it happen again.  He had wanted it too badly, and he wasn’t in a position to want anything for himself.  He had acted without thinking, and he was deeply displeased with himself. He turned back to his sparring partner, refocusing himself and trying to remember not to knock him out.  And the voice inside his head.  “You’d only let her down.”


	6. Diver

Scout rubbed her hands together vigorously and made a dissatisfied sound.  She was cold again.  She was always cold.  Sitting in front of the fire with her big dog sleeping serenely beside her, taking up two thirds of the couch, she was generally quite comfortable, but she was feeling restless ever since the kiss that morning.  She had tried, shamefully, to remember how long it had been since she had been kissed.  Her relationship with her previous partner had ended over a year ago.  At least since then.  With an annoyed groan, she went to the fireplace and rearranged the logs with a fire poker, adding another atop the ones that had begun to crumble.  For a moment, she just sat by the warm hearthstones and thought.  Above her, on the television mounted to the fireplace, a detective related the story of how he apprehended a suspect.  A horror and true crime fanatic, most of the human company Scout had at home came from the television, where she was usually parked doing her online coursework for her Master’s, when not at her part time job at the Allegheny County Historical Society.  Her job had to be put on hold once Jem’s accident had occurred and she needed to take over Heorot MMA, but the small museum they ran out of a historic home was able to spare her, and she’d be welcomed back, they told her, when it was time to relinquish command to her brother once again. 

She’d enjoyed working there since summers as a teenager when she visited her grandparents.  Her mother, a successful children’s book author, often toured in the summers when she was writing, and their father, a doctor in Philadelphia, was often busy.  Scout had loved to make the five hour trip to spend at least a month outside Pittsburgh with her grandmother and grandfather, going to the boxing gym with her granddad and baking and cooking in the kitchen with their grandmother.  Scout and Jem had grown up in Haverford, Pennsylvania, just outside of Philly.  When their parents had met at UPenn, her father had been persuaded to move to the Philadelphia area after graduation and the completion of his residency, to be closer to Scout’s mother’s family, who, while considered down to earth, were ever reluctant to leave the beloved Main Line communities they called home. 

After the death of her father’s mother, Scout’s aging parents had decided they had experienced quite enough of Pennsylvania altogether, and they announced to their children that they were moving.  They had long been fascinated with the culture and landscape of Alaska, being outdoors enthusiasts who often took active, adventurous vacations.  Her father opened a medical practice in a place where the need was great, along the Copper River, while her mother had decided to make an attempt to foray into the world of fiction for adult audiences instead of the young adult work she generally wrote.  Their grandparents had died six months apart, and Scout had been left their old farmhouse in Edgeworth, where she happily moved.  Jem was content to purchase their parents’ old home (at a _very_ reasonable price) and give up his downtown Philly apartment for a more sprawling pad.  So Scout was generally alone.  Most of the time, that was how she liked it.  But not tonight.  She sat up, attempting to concentrate on the journal articles she was supposed to be reading. But when the final log burned down to a heap of coals that she scattered around until they were out, she slowly made her way up the stairs and buried herself under her down comforter and the fluffy throw blanket she usually burrowed underneath, shoving Mathúin gently over when he leapt onto the center of the bed.  She drifted off to sleep, in the white light of the moon as it’s glow passed through her windowpanes and made strange, warped shadows with the grids on the floor.  

The next morning, around eight thirty, Scout sat in the car, steeling herself for her walk into Colt’s.  She knew Tommy Riordan would be there, and she wanted to be prepared for an encounter with him if he approached her.  She stepped out of the car, Castille boots first.  Then she let Mathúin out, picked up her purse and took a deep breath.  She left her sunglasses on, and her team letter jacket open.  Underneath, she had on one of her many pairs of dark skinny jeans, a maritime blue T-shirt with “James J. Braddock” in arcing letters in the top half of a circle shape and “The Cinderella Man” in swooping letters for the bottom half of the circle.  The year 1935 was depicted in roman numerals in the center of the circle, to signify the year that Braddock beat the legendary Max Baer.  Over it, she had on a long, unbuttoned camel colored V-neck sweater.  She walked down the hill and around the corner to the entrance of Colt’s, opening the door to the familiar smell of sweat and leather and rubber training mats, disinfectant and the constantly running washing machine that cleaned the towels that were available to the members.  She kept Mathúin’s leash on him until she reached the corner where her team had placed themselves.  She plopped down on the ground and fished in her bag for a pen and the coil bound, several hundred-page book full of rules and regulations and requirements to participate in Sparta.  She had to make sure, as manager, that everything was in order.  If there were documents that they needed, or things that for regulation purposes needed to be corrected before the tournament began, she wanted to be on top of it now.  Jem had always nonchalantly flown by the seat of his pants, and been relatively successful, compared to Scout who was always anxious and over prepared.  She spent the better part of the morning studying the rulebook, and barely noticed Tommy Riordan going about his training with the man she knew must be his father. 

Halfway through the day, Scout and the boys sat around Gus who was seated on one of the benches, too old and cross to be sitting on the floor.  They were eating lunch together as they discussed the particulars for arriving at Sparta, how much time they had until the tournament, and what their official training schedule would need to look like.  Scout also joked with Kondo that the most important thing for him to do was figure out what his fight song was going to be. 

Somewhere between being fed a bit of chicken from Scout’s wrap, and all of the bacon from Gus’ sandwich when Scout wasn’t looking,Mathúin decided he was not receiving enough attention.  He looked around the gym and found the man he had befriended a few days before.  Padding over to Paddy, Mathúin sat down and wagged his tail on the floor when he reached the older Irishman.  Tommy cast a glance over from where he was doing pull ups on a bar mounted to the wall.  Paddy greeted the big dog with a pet on the head, stretching behind his ears when the giant bear closed his eyes and tipped his big head back.  Mathúin sat with him a while, until he became slightly nervous, and stared looking around for Scout.  He found her, and was about to go over to her when Tommy Riordan came over to the bench Paddy was sitting on and reached into his jacket to get a few more pieces of tape for his hands before he went to hit the heavy bag.  As he lifted his jacket, a small piece of metal fell out of one of his pockets and onto the ground.  Mathúin pawed at it to try to get his attention, but neither Tommy nor Paddy seemed to be paying him any mind just then.  They were talking.  Mathúin gingerly scooped it up into his mouth and held it there gingerly, waiting for one of them to notice he had it. 

Receiving no attention, he returned to his human, walking across the gym with his big black tail wagging, and stuck his nose in her face as she sat beside Kondo and Jamie on the mat.  She noticed by the strange way that he was holding his mouth that he had something in it.  She put out her hand and he carefully dropped a slobbery pin into her open palm.  It was attractive, and interesting looking, she noticed.  An old fashioned diving helmet with two sea horses on either side. 

 

* * *

(Play) Paramore - "Last Hope"

* * *

She looked at Mathúin and rolled her eyes.  “You just had to get this over _there_ didn’t you?”

He made a slight whining sound and turned around in place a few times, settling down onto the mat. 

Scout stood up, sighing “Hold on, guys.”  She said.  They had started to clean up their lunch anyway.  She held the pin carefully in her hand, turning it over a few times, and took a deep breath.  She was hoping that Riordan’s father would be there and she could just hand it to him, but she saw him walking towards the door with his coat in his hand, probably off to get something to eat.  No luck.  She’d have to talk to him. 

First, she went to the water fountain to rinse off some of the drool that had gotten left on it, and then she carefully wiped the pin on the leg of her jeans.  Tommy was watching her as she bent over the drinking fountain, wondering what she was doing, and reminding himself that it neither mattered nor was any of his business.  But he liked watching her move just the same.  It couldn’t hurt just to look, as long as he didn’t get too distracted, right?

She made her way over to him, slowly.  Out of the corner of his eye he watched her approach the bag from the side so that he would see her coming and not be startled.  She knew not to surprise people who fought for a living.  When she got up next to him she could smell the nice laundry and cologne smell had about him the day before, mixed with the fresh sweat rolling in rivulets down his traps and forehead. 

“Hi.”  She said.  Quietly.  He looked over once and nodded.

"Hey."  He said.

“Um…” She started.  He noticed how she looked down bashfully when she got nervous, and pursed her lips a lot.  And how her glossy hair fell in her eyes constantly.  Though not now.  Now he could see her pretty porcelain face, as her sunglasses held her sweeping red bangs away from her forehead.

“I think you dropped this.” 

When he stopped throwing jabs and crosses and looked down into her palm he sniffed, hard, and yanked his glove off, snatching the pin from her.  It was Manny’s.  His master diver insignia.  He kept it on him always.  Scout jumped slightly when he grabbed it so aggressively. 

“You didn’ show nobody this, didja?”  He asked. 

She shook her head, and wrung her hands a bit in spite of herself. 

“Good.” He said. 

Scout turned to walk away and had almost crossed back behind him when he turned his head to glance over his shoulder.  “Hey,” he said.

She stopped and turned around again. 

“Thanks.”  He said. 

She nodded, and turned so he wouldn’t see the outrageous flush that was rising in her cheeks, one so noticeable that she was chided by the younger men of her team when she returned to the protective circle of their group.  


	7. Downpour

Scout idled in mid morning Pittsburgh traffic.  She had the Bel Air with her today, expressing her optimism that there would finally be a return on the prediction of a bit of warm weather the meteorologists expected over the next few days.  But she hadn’t been brave enough to take the ragtop down. Certainly not yet. She breathed in crisp, forty degree air through her cracked window.  Nearly April. Four months until Sparta. And she’d prided herself on the level of professionalism that she’d been able to muster where Tommy Riordan was concerned.  She didn’t acknowledge the fact that it was easy to remain professional when one remained reticent. She had done her best not to say even two words at a time to him since she’d returned the strange pin of his Mathúin had found.  In her less secure moments, she even considered the possibility that the kiss was an attempt to disarm and distract her from her goal of training Kondo, but she was confident that Tommy Riordan wasn’t the kind of person who would stoop so low.

Scout was lucky she hadn’t procrastinated.  All of Kondo’s medical and legal forms, as well as details of who from their team would be representing Heorot at Sparta had been submitted and approved two weeks before. It was easier to get passes and registration details in the mail than wait at the venue to check in. Her paperwork as temporary team manager finished, all she had left to do was assist the boys in honing Kondo’s skills to the absolute letter, and make minor practical arrangements for travel. Their rooms at the Trump Taj had been secured.  She preferred it to the other hotels in Atlantic City, although most of the other fighters were staying at Resorts.  The Trump Taj was a short walk to Boardwalk Hall where Sparta was being held, and their policy on large, fluffy guests such as Mathúin was one of which Scout greatly approved. Their general policy was one of no pets, but Scout had booked a block of Chairman Towers Suites, and had informed the hotel staff that Mathúin was a certified therapy dog who often visited children and adults in the hospital, so his inside behavior was such that they could be confident making an exception. Which they did. She wasn't sure if it was because of the number of rooms she'd booked (which she'd gotten at an excellent price when she told the reservationist that she was with Sparta), or the mere fact that she was somehow involved with the fighting world, but she didn't much care. As much of a nuisance as he could be, Scout was extremely attached to her dog, and hated leaving him even overnight.  The hotel’s babysitting service agreed to take Mathúin for walks at scheduled times when Scout could not be in her room, and when she wasn’t busy with Sparta concerns, Scout would take him for walks on the beach and, maybe, allow him to swim in the ocean.  She was still apprehensive ever since she read Twelve Days of Terror about the string of shark attacks just south of Atlantic City in 1916.  She had enjoyed the book quite a bit, what she didn’t like was the idea of her favorite living creature being snatched up by a rogue shark.

In the afternoon, Scout sat on the floor with her back against a mirror, a pillow tucked under her behind. Mathúin dosed nearby, while Kondo and Jamie practiced different techniques for getting out of submission holds on the mat.  Kondo was a very talented and technically competent fighter, to have been considered for Sparta by Scout and accepted without question by J.J., but there was always room for improvement, especially since his bid had been announced later than that of many of the other fighters.  They had not anticipated such a large-scale, rigorous competition on Kondo’s card that spring.  This left the Heorot MMA team at a slight disadvantage, one that they hoped would be evened out by the extra work they were prepared to do, and relative tenancy and talent of their association. Generally, at least in the boxing realm with which she was familiar, a fighter prepared for and studied the techniques and fighting style of one single fighter, preparing for the upcoming bout between the two men (or women) who would face one another. Granted, boxing’s rules allowed for more ring time than did those in MMA and in Sparta’s guidelines, but Scout was a great proponent of knowing your enemy.  This meant that Scout had to learn the fighting style of fifteen other men, discover their weaknesses, and advise Gus on what she thought their most dangerous and potent weapons in their athletic arsenal were, so that they could train Kondo in combatting these skills, and instruct him in how to recognize them.   

 

She had brought her laptop almost every day, watching countless YouTube clips, systematically taking notes on the competition, and integrating the strengths of Kondo’s competitors into his routine, cross checking with Jamie and Gus.  She’d shown the rest of the team clips from different fights, pausing and running the clips in half and quarter speed, so they could see the specific takedowns, kicks, jabs, and holds that she sought to bring to their attention.

 

The problem was going to arise today.  She’d watched plenty of video on Mad Dog Grimes over the years, and was familiar with his weaknesses, especially because of Jamie and Jem’s intense dislike of “Pete.”  But Tommy Riordan had only one YouTube video online.  Only one. Which had been grainy, brief, and shot in this very gym, in a sparring drill, not in competition. If Kondo hoped to defeat Tommy Riordan, and as a member of his team she considered it her duty to be unwaveringly certain that he could, Scout needed to know what his strengths and weaknesses were. But she didn’t know how she felt about observing him.  Eventually, she asked Gus.  He hadn’t asked any questions, only made a disgusted growling sound and crinkled up his face in a bit of a sneer.  But he said “Yeah, alright.” At least someone else would be able to assess his skills, and she wouldn’t have to deal with the uncomfortable and potentially awkward situation of being caught staring intently at a strange man. 

 

At around four thirty in the afternoon, Tommy Riordan passed through the gym on his way back from grabbing a towel and could see the screen on Scout’s laptop. She was watching a fight in black and white, an old film reel she’d seen hundreds of times, the earbuds in her ears pumping out the commentator’s observations.  If Tommy could see clearly enough, he would have seen that she was watching the 1934 bout at Madison Square Garden between Primo Carnera and Max Baer. Suddenly, everyone in the gym, Scout included, jumped a foot as an enormous crack of thunder exploded above their heads.  The entire building rumbled as the sound echoed through the open space within.  The lights flickered.  Everyone had turned to the ceiling to see if they would remain on. They did, for another fifteen minutes. And then they cut out altogether. A collective groan rose from the patronage of Colt’s.  They waited. A dim whine sounded the resurgence of the power, and training resumed at Colt’s.  Outside, a steady, heavy rain had begun to fall.

 

Scout had checked the weather on her laptop after the rain had started, and it seemed that the nice weather they had been expecting was going to turn out to be quite a torrential rainstorm. An enormous hurricane off the coast of New Jersey had changed course, and was going to batter them pretty significantly, even as far inland as Pittsburgh.  By five o’clock, the wind was howling wildly outside.  When the power finally quit again at ten minutes to 7, and hadn’t been restored by 7:15 when night had fully enveloped the building, the patrons at Colt’s collectively gathered their things in the dark and shuffled outside. Scout said goodnight to the members of her team in the complete darkness outside the entrance as they went their separate ways to their cars and homes, Colt’s irritated apologies following them and the other patrons outside as they left. 

* * *

 

(Play) Lauren Aquilina - "Fools"

* * *

Scout and Mathúin hurried around the corner under her umbrella in the darkness, and Scout noticed as she looked around that many of the other businesses on the block were also out of power.  She ushered Mathúin into the back seat, reaching down to place a thick beach towel across the seat and drape it over the leather so he could sit behind her.  Then she went around to her side, shook her umbrella out and got into the driver’s seat. As she started the car and waited for the engine to warm up and the heat to come on, she saw Tommy Riordan’s big hulking shadow run across the street down the hill just few yards from where her car was parked.  Placing her purse on the floor in front of Mathúin’s feet, Scout put on her seatbelt, put the car in gear and headed to the library.

 

Tommy pounded along the pavement on his run home, and he was halfway up Webster avenue when he cursed aloud.  He’d forgotten to take his keys that morning, and Paddy had left for an AA retreat weekend at some conference center where he wouldn’t be available until Sunday night when he returned.  Tommy would have blamed him for not having a cell phone if it were not for the fact that he himself did not.  And here they were on Friday.  He wouldn’t know who to get in touch with if he did want to find Paddy.  He continued running, as there was no use in stopping, cutting the run short to head home and try to figure out the situation. His main concern was the fact that he and his layers of workout clothes were all soaked with rain and sweat. If he couldn’t get inside, he would be in serious trouble very quickly.  The temperature was dropping a few degrees an hour, and there was no way he could spend the night outside without becoming hypothermic. If he got sick and went to the hospital, he could be found out.  He had no insurance. He supposed he could probably break into the house.  But that would raise the issue of providing identification and of course explaining the situation, and having the very mysterious story of being the long lost son who just moved in after many years away.  Of course, they’d run a check on him, find out he was AWOL, and that would be the end of it. No Sparta, no chance to ensure Pilar and the kids were taken care of.  But his options were diminishing.  He had no friends to speak of that he could call; once he’d left with his mother he had no interest in maintaining any of the old relationships from the ‘Burgh, so that wasn’t an option either.  He sucked in air as a cool blast of wind hit him as he ran.

 

Scout had put some books on hold for her Master’s thesis, and she was headed to one of her favorite places in Pittsburgh to pick them up. She absolutely loved the Carnegie library.  She had gone there with her grandmother quite regularly as a child and it was always a preferred retreat for her. Not today, however. Today she pulled up in the fifteen minute parking area, locked Mathúin in the car for a few moments and mounted the steps, breezing in and out in less than seven minutes. She hopped back into the car, lifting her Carnegie Library canvas bag, now filled with books, onto the seat beside her.  She started the car and pulled out into traffic.  She and Mathúin headed through the streets of Pittsburgh, taking a shortcut a few miles later through a residential area.  Along the quiet street, a police officer was directing traffic around a downed power line that crews were attempting to isolate so that they could ensure safety for the public.  A second officer was posted at another corner a block up, re-routing more traffic. Scout sat back in her car, behind two others, waiting for their turn to move as a large utility truck made its way towards a telephone pole.  She happened to look over to her right and see none other than Tommy Riordan, sitting on the steps of a house, sodden and looking much the worse for wear. She looked at him, shrugging her shoulders as if to ask what was going on.  He didn’t move.  All she could see were his hands linked together in front of him as he rested his elbows on his knees, and the sharp shadows of his profile in the spooky, ever changing lights of the cars and utility vehicles around them.  Sighing with exasperation, she pulled the car to the curb and stepped out quickly, shuddering in the wind. She was wearing her knee length trench coat, her skinny jeans and her boots, but she was still chilly. Rain blew sideways into her and she ran to the bottom of the steps, looking up at him. 

“What’re you doing?”  She called.

Tommy groaned. She was meddling. As much as he found it charming, and frankly, rather darling that she was checking on him, he didn’t need any extra attention now, from anyone.  Still, with the rain slowly soaking her russet colored hair and beading on her freckled cheeks and in her dark eyelashes, he cursed his invisible shackles and thought of how nice it might be to just enjoy her company. 

“Locked out.” He barked.

“I see.”  She called. She paused.  “You know you’ll catch hypothermia out here. I’m sure they taught you that in the marines.”

Tommy was speechless, and before he knew it he was on his feet and hurrying down the stairs towards her, his nostrils flaring as he clenched his teeth together and looked back and forth on the all but deserted street to see if anyone had overheard.

“How the hell you know that?”  He asked.

Scout’s insides fluttered like a thousand refractions of light in a sea of sunlight and broken glass.  He was so big. His shape so intimidating. And he was so close by. Again.  She shrugged, and found herself responding with submissive body language and an even more submissive blink of her big brown eyes. “I watch fighters. Even when my brother is in charge. I consult for him. You think I don’t know the MCMAP when I see it?”  She asked.

Tommy sighed.  He should have realized that it was probably obvious to the trained eye that the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program was a significant part of his style as a fighter. He couldn’t fault her for that. His look softened, but his voice was forceful.

“Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’ tell nobody.”  He sincerely hoped she knew how to practice discretion, and the statement wasn’t a request.  Which was fine with Scout.  She was a tight lipped person as it was. 

“No, I.  I try not to talk about other people unless I know they want me to.  You have my word.”  She said, looking directly into his blue green eyes. 

He visibly shuddered.  “You should ask the cops to let you back in.”  She said. “Really.  You’ll get sick.”

Tommy shook his head discreetly.  “Can’t do that.”  The rain continued to pelt them both steadily.

“So you’re going to sit outside until…..?”

“Sunday.” Tommy said. 

Scout raised her eyebrows at him.  He seemed so stubborn and bullheaded, but she could tell he was smart. She had to choose her words carefully.

“Well. You could always come and stay with me.”

Tommy gave her an alarmed look, and Scout put up both of her hands, showing him her palms to reflect her desire to not be misunderstood. 

“Completely platonically, you understand.  I have five bedrooms.  Four of which you can choose to sleep in.  And as long as you can keep your hands to yourself, I wouldn’t mind having a friend come over.  I get lonely, sometimes.”

She couldn’t believe she was telling him this.  “It would be nice to hang out with someone who’s verbal and doesn’t drink out of the toilet.” At this she turned around, and they both saw Mathúin’s giant drooling face pressed intently against the window pane in the back of the Bel Air.  Scout laughed. Then she turned serious and looked at Tommy.

“Really,” she said.  “I’m used to being around fighters.   It’s no trouble, as long as you don’t mind chopping firewood.” 

Tommy reluctantly shook his head.  “Thanks, but I got a place to go.”  Scout nodded, trying not to look dejected.  Her self esteem was on the lower side to begin with, she’d never stopped feeling like the nerdy girl in school, and it seemed she still wasn’t much good at making friends.

“Well,” she said.  And she thought that as long as she had embarrassed herself this much, she might as well go the rest of the way.  She took a green Sharpie pen out of her coat pocket and wrote her cell phone number on a small stack of post it she also kept there, handing the top leaf quickly to Tommy as she spoke

“I’m going to Pen Mac for some groceries, but if you chance your mind, I can easily come by on my way back to Edgeworth.” 

Tommy wordlessly took the post it, and reluctantly watched her get in the car and navigate her way around the traffic cop.

 

Tommy hung out on his stoop another twenty minutes, started shivering, examined his options, and ran the few blocks to the nearest payphone.

Five minutes after she’d finished at the Pennsylvania Macaroni Co., Scout’s cell phone rang. 


End file.
